Thrill of Blood
by TigerCritic
Summary: The rush, oh the rush of the fight, the thrill of death. Her battle, one only to be won with death forever rages on.


**I'm alive, and writing. Life has been hell lately, and in all honesty i lost my drive for writing. So this is probably my last update save for the sporadic flares of inspiration. Enjoy!**

The rush, oh the rush of the fight, the thrill of death as claws passed over her petite frame barely avoiding her delicate skin as she returned the favour in a vicious strike of the blade. Steel and fur meet, before fur gave way to flesh and blood.

The world was in focus, her awareness narrowed down to her and those around her, the green of the forest was lost to the swell of black and red. The peace of night interrupted by the clamor of survival.

She saw nothing around her, nothing but the flowing blood and the mass of black, her breathing steady and even sharpened in anticipation and there, a flash of white. The woman spun back avoiding death's grip once more and striking back at once. Black gave way to red, red gave way to ash, and ash disappeared in the wind.

Just as quickly another took its brother's place in front of her and the dance began once more. Back, slash, to the left three steps, stop let the beast pass her, flip over a third, a gun sounded and the numbers around her dwindled once more.

The movements were clean of any effort, each step a well known dance with death, with each step the risk grew, with each falter death grew closer, with each breath she teased the inevitable.

Another flash of white, this time a curved claw slammed into her lithe frame, drawing blood and breaking bone. A hacking cough, a manic laugh, the flash of steel and a howl of pain and the cycle started once more.

She wouldn't stop, she couldn't, not when that same thrill of death had taken her sister from her. Not when that rush of blood had ripped her love from her arms, and the rush of the fight stole her best friend. Not with death standing so close she close feel it's icy grip around her throat.

This night would only end in two ways, with victorious amongst her enemies, or her lifeless body being torn to shreds. Self-preservation was a myth, pain was a lie, life held no meaning to her.

The only thing that matter now was the thrill, the rush, the delicate game she played. Duck, dodge to the right, slash up, half a step back, another foe downed, it was child's play.

Another burst of red blood, another slash, another foe gone and another to take its place. The woman smiled her teeth yellow and crooked, her eyes alive with mania. The beasts in front of her paused.

A tattered cape hung from her shoulders, it's hood obscuring her face. Her clothes barely fit to be worn and slathered in grime and muck. Her weapon worn in places, but as sharp as the day it was made. Blood flowing freely to the ground, yet the woman didn't seem to care, didn't seem to even notice as she swayed under the burden she carried.

She cut an imposing figure, her mania barely contained under her skin and scars of battles won marred her body, but the beasts didn't care. They saw an enemy worth the brethren they lost, worth the blood spilt and in return the human saw the same.

The temporary truce faded away, and both beast and man clashed once more, slash, cut, duck, shoot, to the left jump, there an opening, fresh sweet blood and ash once more. Backhand, spin, duck to the left and more blood lost, but the ashed in front of her eased that loss.

So the battle continued, far into the night, and the dawn began to rise and the woman fought. She fought against the enemies she saw in front of her, lost to the mania and unseeing to the damage she did to herself.

Her enemies never stayed away long, always there in her eyes, and the mania began to take it's toll. Long after the final beast fell, long after the nightmares haunted her pushing her to keep fighting, long after the dawn came and went and she fought.

Her battle one only to be won with death, and as she wished it, the final strike came, but not from an enemy for it came from her own hand and the woman dropped to the floor. Her eyes finally clear and seeing, even as her breathing grew laboured and her heart grew slower. A figure became clear to only her, and so with a cheerful smile the woman spoke.

"Hey Weiss! Is it time to go now?"

"Yes come along now Ruby, we're waiting for you."

"Hey Weiss?"

"Yes?"

"Are you proud of me?"

A pause, "I'll always be proud, now it's time to go Ruby."

"Ok Weiss, … I missed you guys."

And the night was grew still.


End file.
